by E. R. Arroyo
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Routine vitals. Everything is normal so far.”
Nice of her to explain, I’m sure she didn’t have to. Her face is quite close to emotionless, though. I don’t understand how the adults here, no matter their age, are like robots. It’s like they turn eighteen and suddenly mature to the age of sixty.
“On your back,” she says, and I comply. She presses her hands into my abdomen, and I wince at the pain. She’s checking my organs, I guess, but she doesn’t realize there’s a giant bruise there from someone’s fist. I don’t bother asking her to be careful.
Next she checks my reflexes. Then she puts me on a treadmill like the ones in the Underage workout room. She has me hooked to sensors and monitors while she cranks up the speed gradually until I’m flat out sprinting.
“Can you go any faster?”
“I think so,” I exhale.
She turns it up a little more and I keep up. She cranks it up again without asking, and I have to let go of the bars to keep my balance, swinging my arms at my sides. But I’m still on. She cranks it up one more time and it’s all I can do to stay on. I get the impression she’s going to keep turning it up until I fall off. Sure enough she pushes the button again, and my legs falter. I move toward the end of the pad and feel my feet slipping out from under me. Right as I’m falling and catching myself on the ground, she cuts the machine off.
Next, I’m lifting weights, and I’m sure she wants to find my breaking point here, as well. We go through a similar routine as we did with the running. She piles on more and more weight until I can’t lift anymore. I’m not sure what a good number is or what the numbers even mean.
Finally we get to the needles. First she takes a stick with cotton on the end and rubs it all around the inside of my mouth and seals it in a tube. Then she places a device in my arm to which she proceeds to attach vial after vial, filling them with my blood. At the end, I feel a little woozy. Another exhausting day makes me wonder if I’ll ever feel rested again.
I follow her down the hall where she takes x-ray pictures of my bones. Next she puts me inside a machine that makes a loud, humming noise all the way around me. After that, I’m on a table with sensors on my temples and forehead. They pump something into my arm where the blood-drawing device is still attached. The fluid is clear and stings a little.
Suddenly, everything around me seems dull. The lights are dimmer, and the sound of her voice counting off grows more and more faint. My vision gets darker and darker and stops at a shade of gray that matches the clouds. I hear noise, but it’s muffled and I can’t understand it. I feel pulses enter my body through the sensors. I think they’ve attached even more of them, because I feel stinging sensations on my arms, legs and chest, as well as my head. I feel like I want to scream, like I’m losing control. No, I’m already out of control. I feel lost and out of place, and so very tired. I fight hard to open my eyes, and to make out voices but I can’t do it. Then finally, clear as a bell, I hear, “Why is it taking so long?” and “She’s almost out.” Then nothing. Nothing at all.
I awake to a light that sears through my eyelids even though I can’t seem to open them. I’m groggy, and my head aches tremendously. I draw my hands to my face to block the light, and open my eyes just enough to see where I am: back in the room where I started. I’m back in my own clothes, and it makes me uncomfortable knowing I didn’t put them on myself. I sit up and cock my head to each side, wanting the stiffness in my neck to subside. And the headache. It’s intense, and there seems to be pain in distinct places.
There’s a tap on the door and my lab tech enters. Right behind her are Nathan and Marsiana. The tech sits next to the counter with the chart flipped open. I’m surprised at how thick the file has become. Nathan and Marsiana stand by the closed door with their hands behind their backs. They could be made of stone. Two statues.
The lab tech begins to speak. “Her physical aptitudes are excellent. No impairments or abnormalities. While I did note a few injuries, they did not affect her performance.” I hadn’t realized I was performing. No one has looked at me or addressed me since they walked in. “Blood work was as expected.”
Nathan speaks now, “The immunity?”
“Yes.”
“Immunity to what?” I blurt out.
Nathan finally looks at me with that crooked smile I’m starting to hate. Why is he acting this way? Pleasant, almost.
“Just about everything,” she explains. “Every virus. Every disease. Every poison.”
“Meds?” Nathan asks.
“Most of them, yes. We had a hard time putting her under,” she tells him.
“How do you know I’m immune to those things?” I ask.
“Over the years we’ve injected you with them. You never respond. Your immune system is remarkable,” she says, for the first time with a distinct emotion: wonder.
“It’s also frustrating,” Nathan interjects. He still looks happy, though.
The captain shifts her weight. “Why frustrating?”
“Because she’s unpredictable. That’s the biggest reason she’s not in Population. We can’t anticipate the results of her reproduction.” His tone has shifted to grim. If he’s implying that I have DNA that is otherwise fit for breeding, he’s off his rocker. For once I’m glad to be a freak of nature. I’d die before letting them use me that way.
“She’ll make a fine soldier. So it’s their loss,” Marsi says. I’m touched that someone is taking up for me.
“We’ll see.” Nathan shoots me a warning glance.
The tech clears her throat. “I’ll go over my dietary recommendations with her, and then send her out.”
“Thank you.” Nathan nods and sees himself out. Marsi offers me a quick smile on her way out behind him.
Everything that 335 says next comes in a blur. I can’t shake the feeling of betrayal. These people pretended they were doing me a favor. Pretended to save me. But they used me. They tried everything they could to make me weaker--I could have died from what they did to me. I’m a punching bag. A stupid experiment.
I’m angry. I’m hurt. I want to wrap my cold, bony fingers around Nathan’s neck. I wonder if Cornelius knew. He couldn’t have. I have to get out of here. I have to get out now, or I’ll hurt somebody. I’m hurting them already.
“Your head will probably hurt for another day or so, but besides that, you shouldn’t have any problems from the operation.” Suddenly, I’m jolted from the storm in my mind.
“Operation?” I have no idea what she’s talking about. She nods to my neck and I follow her gaze with my fingers. There’s a bandage on my neck right where... “A chip?”
“Yes. It’s not been assigned any clearances yet, so you’ll still have to be escorted to restricted areas. As to when the rest takes place, that’s up to your superiors. We just install them,” she says. She’s detached again. It’s all just business for her. Are we even human anymore?
“Okay,” I mumble.
“Take your time getting up. I’ll be back to get you in a few minutes.” I nod, and she’s out the door. I don’t move for what seems like an hour. When I do move, it’s slow, mechanical. Lifeless.
I step into the hall to wait for 335. There’s a group at the end of the hall that I don’t bother to look at until I hear footsteps approaching. When my eyes finally make the lazy trip up at the person walking toward me, my heart leaps inside my chest. Dylan. All at once, I’m relieved, and thrilled, and scared.
“Are you okay?” he asks me.
“Not really.” He just looks at me, but I don’t know what else to say. I shrug.
He keeps his hands planted behind his back, and I’m careful with my body language, too. I don’t even turn to face him. We shouldn’t be talking right out in the open like this, but I can’t just walk away.
“Listen,” he says, his voice grave, despite the pleasant look on his face. How does he do that? “I think your chip has a tracker, so you can’t go sneaking arou
nd.”
Of course they can track me now.
I’m lost for words. Nothing is coming. I want to tell him everything I’ve just learned, and how I feel. But I tell him nothing.
“I’m sorry you’re hurt.” He looks my bruised face over. “Don’t do anything stupid. Just stay the course.”
I look up the hall one direction, and then the other. I touch the bandage on my neck with no real intent.
“I have to go.” Then he walks away. It was dangerous for him to approach me like that. Kind of reckless, actually. He’s never reckless.
I can’t believe I didn’t say anything. I feel like I haven’t seen him in ages, and I had nothing to say. I hate that he had to see me beat up, exhausted, and fresh out of surgery. And completely confused. He always seems to find me when I’m at my weakest, and I hate it. I hate that when I feel at the point of breaking, he has to be the one to reel me in, and calm me down. Keep me from doing something rash.
I’m being tracked now, so I can’t mess up. No exploring. No more midnight trips to occupy my sleepless mind. And no more books to keep me company. I’m trapped in the routine of a drone soldier of Antius.
The captain waits for me by the elevators.
“Where’s everybody else?” I ask.
“We’re headed to catch up with them now.” She extends a piece of bread and a bottle of water, and I eat in the elevator.
On the sixth floor, everyone else is already waiting in the biggest room I’ve seen in the building. The entire floor is open space with only a few closed off areas on the far side.
There’s padding on the floor, bright lights everywhere. Tables are lined up along one wall, and along the opposite wall are things I don’t really recognize. Marsi guides us to the tables and we all take seats on the side of the tables by the wall so we’re all facing her. Nathan has joined us, too. He stands erect with his hands behind his back.
“Weapons,” he begins. “Are our life force. On duty, you will always have one, and it is important that you know everything about it.” Guns. I’m probably the only one of the pledges who has held one.
Titus emerges from the far end of the space. He holds a large crate, that he carries as though it weighs nothing. But when he puts it on the table it makes a loud thud, and I feel the table shake. Without instruction from anyone, he pulls guns from the crate and sets one before each of us.
“Thank you, Titus.” Nathan nods.
Titus tells us all about guns over the next couple of hours. We’re taught to take them apart, and put them together. How to clean them, how to load them (though they only let us practice with blanks). After we’ve been over things several times, we’re tested.
We start with an empty gun and box of ammunition lying on the table in front of us, and our hands in our laps. Titus yells “go,” and we all fly into motion. I remove the empty clip and dismantle the gun. I reassemble it, and fill the clip with ten rounds, and slap it in. I set the gun down and put my hands back in my lap. Titus nods to acknowledge my time, and continues timing the others. I am the first to finish.
They run it again. I win. And again. I win again. Nathan smiles every time, though I refuse to give him more than a sidelong glance.
Next comes target practice. It takes a few tries to get used to the kick and get my bearings, but within ten minutes, I’m hitting the target every time. As more time passes, about fifty percent of my shots are within five inches of the bulls-eye. An hour later, I’m within three inches.
“Nicely done, Cori,” Nathan commends so loudly everyone stops to look. I think Sean is looking at me, but I’m not willing to verify. Nathan keeps giving Sean reason after reason to hate me more.
In the weeks that follow, we spend hours outside running and completing obstacle courses. In the training room, running drills, using weapons. Every day, I excel. Every day, Nathan commends me in front of the others. Every night, Marsiana is friendlier, but sadder somehow. Every session, I get special attention from Titus.
Every day, I miss Alyssa and Dylan.
I’m the last one standing at the targets today and I’ve got two rounds left. I fire them back to back and they pass through the same hole, mere millimeters from the center of the target. It’s my best day so far.
“You’re a prodigy, you know.” I turn and Nathan’s standing right behind me. Too close. He’s much too close. He takes another step toward me, and I’m suddenly a stick on the ground getting stepped on--I snap.
“Why are you doing this? Is this a game?”
“Pardon me, soldier?” He raises his voice. Finally a sign of the Nathan I know.
“Two months ago, you wanted to rip my throat out for being a menace. Now you’re showing me off every chance you get. That stupid dress, the race, the shooting.” I pause to catch my breath as heat rushes through my body. “I’m the fastest runner, the best shooter, a remarkable specimen, and now a prodigy? Why all the flattery? If I’m such a delinquent, why bother?” I lace the last line with as much venom as my high-pitched voice can muster.
“You’re performing well, how is that something I’ve done?”
“It’s a game,” I yell. “This stuff is child’s play and you know it. So tell me why.” I realize everybody else has left the room. We’re alone.
Nathan takes a few steps away with his hand over his mouth. He turns back toward me, rubbing his fingers through the stubble on his chin. “I have a theory about you.”
“What’s that?” I ask, reluctantly, but I’m indignant still.
“Confidence,” he tells me. “A little confidence. An affirmation that you’re something impressive. That you’re something special.”
“Why?”
“To motivate you.” Motivate me to what?
He shifts his weight, stands straighter, and puts his hands behind his back. The casual tone is gone. “Quite frankly, I’m giving you one last chance to become valuable to me. To be a compliant asset. Otherwise,” he pauses. “I’ll have no need of you.”
Another threat.
“You want me to prove myself, then?” I ask, half-bitter, half-desperate to get it right for once.
“Precisely.”
“Fine. Then stop playing games and treat me like everybody else.” I try to calm my tone, but I’m not sure it’s working. I need him to trust me.
“Have it your way.”
Chapter Six
“Teamwork,” Nathan says. My morning stupor hasn’t quite worn off yet, nor has the headache--I have headaches every morning now. I barely slept last night since I was worrying over Nathan’s threat. I should have kept my mouth shut. “Teamwork is critical for survival. It is a group of individuals working toward a common goal.”
Everyone looks at each other, assessing what we all correctly assume is about to be our team. By now, I’m used to these guys, but I don’t particularly like any of them. There’s Twig, Sean, and Billy. There’s Jayce, a boy who makes up for what he lacks in height with perfectly chiseled muscle tone. Matt is the gangly one who always has something to say when Nathan and Marsiana aren’t around. Jensen might as well be Sean and Billy, minus the extensive history. He’s not a fan of mine. None of them are, I guess, not after the spectacle Nathan has made of me. Yet, I find myself feeling as though this band of boys is the closest thing to a family I’ve had in over a decade.
I can’t let myself think that way. They’d all be happy to see me fail. I can’t forget that.
Captain Marsiana looks displeased, more than normal. She seems uncomfortable with this exercise, and I wonder if she always is, or if this is new. Something special to demonstrate Nathan’s anger toward my outburst yesterday.
A truck pulls up to where we’re standing by the front gate of the compound. “In you go,” Nathan orders us. We all pile into the back, which is covered with a camouflaged fabric. The captain looks reluctant, but as the truck starts moving, she unzips a duffel bag.
I hear the metallic squeal of the front gate as we move closer to it. The sound grows loud
er and I realize what’s happening.
We’re leaving the compound.
My heart cartwheels inside my chest, but I have to keep calm. There are two armed men in the front of this vehicle, as well as Nathan and Marsi. This is no time to be stupid. I’m jolted from my reverie by metal on my skin. I look up at Marsiana, then down to my wrist. She has slapped a handcuff on me and let the other end dangle. I look around and see that she’s placed a handcuff on everybody’s right arm, except Sean.
I’m trying not to focus my attention on what she’s doing, but I don’t want to look at Nathan, either. So, I focus on the floor beneath my boots.
“Dip,” Captain says. “Your whole hands.” She wears a scowl while she holds a container open and goes down the line, making each of us dip our hands into a cool, green liquid. It almost stings to the touch, but it dries quickly and is soon forgotten. Only a faint, greenish hue remains. I have no idea what it could be. No one protests or asks questions, either.
Next, Marsi wraps a blindfold around Billy’s face. I start to panic. What is this? She makes her way back down the line blindfolding each of us. When my blindfold goes on, I begin to tremble. I’m not sure if it’s in my hands, but I feel it in my chest. In my bones.
We ride in silence for what I estimate is fifteen minutes, then the brakes squeal, and the truck stops. A hand guides me off the truck and as soon as I’m down, the cuff on my right arm is attached to someone else. I have no idea who. I hear more clicking and realize the same thing is happening to everyone. I’m going to be led somewhere, we’re going to work together. It’s just a teamwork exercise. I’m fine. It’s going to be fine.
Click.
Cold metal touches me again. This time on my left arm, and suddenly I’m trapped between two different people. I need to see what I’m up against. How did she tie this blindfold so well?
“I’ll help you a little with the suspense.” Nathan is standing close to me. “You’re all attached, one to another. The two people on the ends are not wearing blindfolds. They’ll guide you, and it’s up to each of you to trust and follow them. None of you will survive this alone. And the group will not leave anyone behind. How you accomplish this course will be up to your leaders. And the quicker you do this, the better. For your own sakes...” He seems to trail off.